But she didn't see it as she would have if she'd reoccupied her corporeal form. Rather, she floated high above the stronghold and somehow perceived an abundance of information all at once. Though still chanting, she and the other members of the primary circle had fallen to their knees or onto their sides. Gaedynn and the other spectators watched them helplessly. Down in the courtyard, Burning Braziers whirled flaming chains and danced in and out of the bonfire. Sometimes they emerged with their clothing ablaze, but even then, they continued to whirl and leap. Glowing as if his body were made of sunlight, Mirror stood with his sword upraised. Elsewhere, Red Wizards recited rhyming spells and flourished their wands, orbs, and staves. Some bled from the eyes or nostrils, spat out teeth that had suddenly slipped from their gums, or collapsed thrashing and foaming in epileptic seizures. Szass Tam's wards were afflicting them as well.

Still, Aoth was right. Power floated above the castle in an opalescent haze. Jhesrhi immersed herself in it, drew it into her, and then she could breathe again. She lingered for another moment, bracing herself, refocusing her mind, then leaped back into the well.

From that point onward, it was a little easier, although the bats never stopped hurtling at her, and the well never stopped trying to steal her breath. Not until glowing red cracks sheared up and down the length of it, zigzagging through every section all at once. An instant later, the entire structure shattered into a million tumbling shards.

And a heartbeat after that, she was back inside her body on the rooftop. She prayed it was because the place her spirit had just visited no longer existed.

She was sore from head to toe but particularly in her chest. She was also soaked with clammy sweat, and when she tried to stand, she found she barely had the strength. Gaedynn started toward her, then stopped when he remembered she wouldn't want his help.

The other members of the circle floundered up as well. From the looks of it, they all felt as spent and achy as she did, but none displayed any of the bizarre injuries that had so disfigured their discarnate souls.

Nevron glowered at Lallara. "Did we really do it?" he demanded. "Can you tell?"

"Give me a moment," Lallara snapped. She closed her eyes, took several long, deep breaths, and murmured an incantation.

Then the first smile Jhesrhi had ever seen on that wrinkled, haglike countenance pulled the corners of the pale lips upward.

Jhesrhi felt her own lips stretch into a grin. Sensed the joy bursting forth across the rooftop as her companions observed Lallara's expression. In another moment, someone would let out a cheer.

Except that then, the crone's smile twisted into a scowl. "Wait," she said.

"Wait," said Szass Tam, and the trio of vampiric knights he'd brought with him halted at the intersection of five tunnels. Narrowed eyes slightly luminous in the gloom, alert for any sign of their quarry, the blood-drinkers peered down the shadowy passages.

Szass Tam dropped to one knee and sketched a triangle on the floor with a withered fingertip. His digit left a trail of red phosphorescence behind. When completed, the glowing arrowhead spun around. And kept on spinning, endlessly, until its maker snorted in mingled annoyance and amusement and wiped it from existence.

"Did you pick up the demon's trail?" a vampire asked.

"No," said Szass Tam, rising. "Whatever it is, it knows enough sorcery to cover its tracks."

"Well, don't worry, Your Omnipotence, we'll find it."

In another time, the warrior's expression of loyalty and confidence might have elicited Szass Tam's favor. But now that he'd trained himself in scorn, he nearly sneered at the vampire's sycophancy. But there was no need to show his disdain and several good reasons not to, so he simply chose a corridor at random and headed down it. His bodyguards prowled along behind him.

After a while, they came to an alcove containing a shrine to a minor godling, a psychopomp and guardian of tombs, who'd died thousands of years before. Something had smashed the statue's avian head and the inscription on the pedestal beneath.

"Has anyone reported this?" Szass Tam asked.

"No, Master," the same vampire told him.

"It's recent damage, then." Which meant the demon might still be in this part of the subterranean complex. Perhaps where divination had failed, luck had succeeded.

Szass Tam touched the topaz set in one of his rings and wrapped himself in an almost invisible haze that would deflect a blow like plate armor. Then something jolted him and sent him staggering.

"Master!" said the talkative vampire. "Are you all right?"

Szass Tam regained his balance. "Yes." For an instant, he'd wondered if the demon had leaped out of nowhere and struck him, wondered, too, if an earthquake had rocked the Citadel and the mountain and catacombs beneath, but now he could tell that neither was the case. Rather, he'd experienced a purely psychic shock.

Unfortunately, that didn't make the situation any better. Indeed, it was nearly as bad as it could be.

He brandished his staff. "I have to leave you."

"Should we-," began the knights' spokesman. Then magic whined through the air, enfolded Szass Tam in its grip, and translated him to the apex of the keep.

Attuned as he was to the gigantic instrument he'd created, he'd felt it when one of the Dread Rings broke. Now that he was on the roof, at the very hub and linchpin of the dark circle, he could tell with certainty that, as he'd guessed, it was the fortress in Lapendrar that had surrendered its essential nature. Impossible as it seemed, his enemies must have prevailed against Malark, Tsagoth, and all the castle's other defenders. Now the symbol Szass Tam had defined on the face of Thay was warping, collapsing like a spiderweb with a critical anchoring strand severed.

The terrible irony was that Szass Tam had elaborated on the pattern in Fastrin's book and had built more Dread Rings than its ancient author suggested. He'd judged that in an endeavor like the Unmaking, one couldn't have too much power. But now, the loss of one perhaps unnecessary castle threatened to render all the others useless.

At first, no matter how he strained, he couldn't think of a thing in the world to do about it. Finally he closed his eyes. Centered himself and fought for calm. He was Szass Tam, and he didn't panic. He wouldn't panic now.

When he felt ready, he considered the problem anew with all the cold objectivity he could muster. And saw something he hadn't realized before.

The sigil the Dread Rings defined could never exist again-not in the conventional, three-dimensional world. But there were many more dimensions than that, even if people couldn't ordinarily perceive them. Were it otherwise, the mortal plane and all the higher and lower worlds wouldn't be able to coexist.

He dropped his staff to clatter on the roof and summoned a different one, fashioned of clear crystal, into his hand. Once, it had belonged to Yaphyll, the greatest seer he'd ever known; he'd found it sealed in a secret vault in the Tower of Vision after the zulkirs had abandoned Bezantur. It was the best tool he possessed for what he had in mind, which was no guarantee that it was powerful enough.

He brandished the glittering staff and recited words of power, and an image of the realm's plains, plateaus, and mountains, the rivers, lakes, and seashore appeared floating in the air before him. Black dots designated the Dread Rings and the Citadel.

He spoke again, and the map shifted, although no one else would have seen it alter. That was because Szass Tam now viewed it in four dimensions, in a manner foreign to normal human perception.